Fire
by greenleaf-in-bloom
Summary: Of the Quagmires, the fire, and the unknown. Of Duncan, Isadora, and Quigley. Of all that is and could and will be. Not in LS style.


"Children, dinner."  
  
The soft voice floated up to the three siblings. They looked at each other and sighed. "C'mon," the girl said resignedly. "Let's go."  
  
"Children!"  
  
"Coming, Mum," the taller boy said. "We'd better wash our hands."  
  
"Right," agreed the others.  
  
"Duncan! Quigley! Isadora!"  
  
"Coming, Mum!" Duncan called again.  
  
"Hurry, dears, the meal will be cold."  
  
"We're going to wash our hands!" Isadora shouted. "What should we do this time?" she added in an undertone to Quigley.  
  
"Balance teacups on our heads all the way down the stairs?" Duncan suggested as they walked into the bathroom. He turned on the tap and started to wash his hands, and the other two triplets stuck their hands under the running water as well.  
  
"Duncan, we did that on the sixth," Quigley sighed.  
  
"But it's the nineteenth now."  
  
"We haven't slid down the banister since the twentieth of last month. You remember how much they hated that?"  
  
"Teacups tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Isadora smiled. Her brothers were her favorite people in the world. She didn't have many friends - her tendancy to write two-line poems constantly made them rather dislike her. Both Duncan and Quigley, however, enjoyed her poems, just as she enjoyed looking at Quig's sketches and at Duncan's notes. Her brothers had their careers all planned out, too, and it made her feel less alone at home.  
  
"All right, then. Let's go."  
  
The triplets hurried to the top of the stairs. "You first, Quig," Duncan whispered. Quigley was the quickest of any of them, and the most dramatic. His pictures were always gentle and loud at the same time, and his acting skills were somewhat better than Isadora and Duncan's. He was also a bit smaller - no one knew why, since the boys' faces were identical and Isadora just looked more feminine. "And you go after, Isadora," he added. "I'm just slower than you two - you know it."  
  
Isadora shrugged. "Nothing bad about being slow," she whispered as Quigley positioned himself on the banister. "You just don't like to miss any details."  
  
Duncan smiled at her. Quigley gave them a small wave and slid down and out of sight - the staircase was at the center of the house, and circular. On the third and top floor was their observatory - the Quagmire parents were astronomers - and the small studio they had set aside for the triplets' birthday. It was mostly Quigley's, of course. Duncan and Isadora had gotten their own notebooks, and Quigley had gotten a set of colored pencils. All three triplets spent time in the studio, but mostly Duncan and Isadora just talked while Quigley worked.  
  
Isadora heard her mother and father's shreiks, and mounted the banister, pushing off and flying - flying - flying down onto the red carpet that she loved so much. Quigley was standing to the side and laughing, and their parents both had their arms crossed and were frowning.  
  
She rolled to the side, hugging Quigley's ankles and laughing, and Duncan flew down, landing rather hard and laughing even harder and louder than the thump that issued when he hit the floor.  
  
"That wasn't very original," their father remarked with raised eyebrows.  
  
"None of them are new anymore. We ran out," Isadora giggled.  
  
"Well, get your dinner before it gets cold, then."  
  
Their meal was cheeseburgers and peas - nothing to be excited about, but it wasn't the food they were interested in. Duncan was talking about starting a school newspaper, and Quigley had started a picture of a white Bengal tiger, and Isadora had written two poems about a dream she had had. Their parents, too, were very excited - they informed the triplets that they might have discovered a new star near the Andromeda galaxy that had been overlooked.  
  
After dinner, the children had almost an hour until bedtime, but their mother and father were going to the observatory, so they turned off all the lights downstairs, lighting a couple candles in case they had to come downstairs in the night, and went up the staircase, still talking happily.  
  
By and by, however, Duncan and Isadora decided to go down to their rooms on the second floor.  
  
"Does it seem a bit warm?" Isadora asked, yawning.  
  
"Mmm," Duncan said, blinking off sleep. "I guess."  
  
"Let's go turn off the heater."  
  
"Mum turned it off earlier," Isadora said, her weary confusion mounting as they reached the stairs.  
  
"Let's slide," Duncan grinned halfheartedly, and the two got onto the banister and started to slide, laughing, clutching their notebooks to their bodies.  
  
Their laugher was very short-lived, and soon turned to screams as they saw the fire that had already engulfed the lower levels and was flying up the staircase.  
  
"Dunc!" Isadora screamed as she landed on a patch of unscorched floor, and caught her brother with difficulty.  
  
"It's taken the whole staircase, we can't get back up!" Duncan screamed. "QUIGLEY! MUMMY! MUMMY, FATHER!"  
  
"We have to go back up somehow!" But even as Isadora said it, several stairs caved into a black, ugly mass.  
  
"NO! NO, ISADORA, WE HAVE TO GET OUT!"  
  
"DUNCAN, ARE YOU CRAZY? WE HAVE TO HELP THEM!" The fire was spreading far, far too fast.  
  
"WE CAN'T!" Duncan screamed, taking her shoulders and shaking her. "ISADORA, WE'LL DIE! THEY MIGHT GET OUT SOME OTHER WAY - WE HAVE TO CALL FOR HELP!"  
  
"THERE'S NO TIME!" She struggled to escape, but he pulled her back. "YOU KNOW THEY WON'T! THEY'LL DIE!"  
  
"WE DON'T HAVE ANY OTHER CHOICE! WAKE UP, ISADORA!"  
  
I want to wake up! she wanted to scream at him. I want to wake up in my room. Don't you? I want to wake up and never remember this dream! "DAMN YOU!" Isadora screamed. "DAMN YOU, DUNCAN, THEY'RE GOING TO DIE!"  
  
He didn't answer, just pulled her after him. She struggled and screamed, but Duncan's hold was too tight, and he half-dragged her out the door. They could see there their beautiful house, burning. The fire had taken the first two floors, but by some miracle a path had remained clear to the door. As they watched, the tongues of fire reached the third floor, and if there were screams, the roaring of the fire blocked them. They clung to each other there, weeping in a place that was now the middle of nowhere. There wasn't a house for three miles. They were all alone.  
  
They had their only mildly scorched clothing, their birthday notebooks, and each other, but they had a feeling that might not be enough. They didn't know how they could live as the two orphaned Quagmire triplets.  
  
Then, uncountable minutes or hours later, Duncan and Isadora Quagmire turned from the house onto the road, to find a telephone, and perhaps, someday, something more. 


End file.
